


Electromagnetism

by sootandshadow



Category: Devil May Cry
Genre: End of highschool so they're both 18, Highschool AU, Incest, M/M, Not that they get up to anything but, Short and sweet fluffs, Twincest
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-07-09
Updated: 2019-07-08
Packaged: 2020-06-25 00:42:04
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 2
Words: 3,716
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/19734913
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/sootandshadow/pseuds/sootandshadow
Summary: He quickly scans the room for any signs of his brother, and isn’t disappointed when he spots him almost immediately. Vergil, for all that he always complains about how noisy Dante is when he’s there, has his headphones on, eyes skimming the pages of a novel that probably weighs about as much as Dante’s dumbbell set. He’s seated on the bed —hisbed, Dante notes with the tiniest flush of pleasure — legs crossed neatly in front of him and back to the wall. But none of that is what holds his attention. No, what makes the straps of his overnight bag slip through his fingers is what Vergil’swearing.A faded, maroon sweatshirt covers whatever nice shirt he has underneath, its elbows badly patched with mismatched fabric and its cuffs with fraying edges. He has the sleeves pulled up so his forearms are visible, pale skin made even paler by the colour of the fabric. It’s untidy in a way that the rest of him is immaculate, oversized and looking even more worn out when paired with his fitted trousers. In short, it seems completely out of place on him, and there’s a really good reason for that.See, that sweatshirt isDante’s.





	1. Away Game

**Author's Note:**

  * For [moooistegg](https://archiveofourown.org/users/moooistegg/gifts).



> Dedicated to Aloe, who blessed me with an icon to sigh at everyone on the Spardacest server. <33

The trip back to his shared dorm room seems to take _forever_ , Dante’s lungs starting to burn as he pushes himself to run faster, taking the stairs two at a time. It’s always like this though, an inescapable longing to return to his elder brother, his twin, the other half of his soul, made all the more demanding by their extended separation. Sure, he’d only been gone a few days, but it still felt like a lifetime; every breath had made Dante painfully aware of the empty space in his chest where he could usually feel Vergil’s presence, a metaphysical thread binding them together.

(Apparently twin bonds had physical limits. Who knew.)

The first time he’d left the school for an away game had been ... _rough_ , to say the least. Dante distinctly remembers hyperventilating in the boy’s bathroom of an unfamiliar school, unable to do anything but clutch at his arms and reach blindly for the link to his brother that was suddenly cold and unresponsive. Lady had found him and called Vergil on her cell, pressed the phone to his ear so he could hear his brother’s voice. Vergil had sounded as shaky as he felt but he’d composed himself in the face of Dante’s distress, settled him until Dante could at least leave the bathroom on his own two feet. Later, when he’d raced back to his dorm room, Vergil had hidden them both under the bedcovers and held him so tightly he thought he might be crushed. 

Now, at least, Dante’s left enough times that he knows what to expect, and the reaction has eased over time. He supposes a part of it is their own fault, having never been alone since conception and refusing to be separated every moment after. Even so, he knows that he won’t be able to settle properly until he’s seen his brother again, despite the fact that he can sense him through their bond. 

Outside his dorm room, he fumbles with his keys, nearly dropping them in his haste to get inside, cursing his clumsy fingers. Finally, _finally_ , the lock clicks, and he turns the handle with a flourish, shoving the door open with his foot. The greeting that leaves his lips is the same one he uses every time, if only because he knows how much Vergil hates it. 

“Honey, I’m home!”

Man, that never gets old. 

He quickly scans the room for any signs of his brother, and isn’t disappointed when he spots him almost immediately. Vergil, for all that he always complains about how noisy Dante is when he’s there, has his headphones on, eyes skimming the pages of a novel that probably weighs about as much as Dante’s dumbbell set. He’s seated on the bed — _his_ bed, Dante notes with the tiniest flush of pleasure — legs crossed neatly in front of him and back to the wall. But none of that is what holds his attention. No, what makes the straps of his overnight bag slip through his fingers is what Vergil’s _wearing._

A faded, maroon sweatshirt covers whatever nice shirt he has underneath, its elbows badly patched with mismatched fabric and its cuffs with fraying edges. He has the sleeves pulled up so his forearms are visible, pale skin made even paler by the colour of the fabric. It’s untidy in a way that the rest of him is immaculate, oversized and looking even more worn out when paired with his fitted trousers. In short, it seems completely out of place on him, and there’s a really good reason for that. 

See, that sweatshirt is _Dante’s._

“I see the barbarism of the game hasn’t completely left you. Close the door, Dante.” 

Dante startles at the sound of his brother’s voice, already shuffling his bag further into the dorm room so he can do as he’s told, before his brain catches up to him. Vergil hasn’t even looked up from his book to scold him, but he’s frowning now, sullen and shuttered in that way he gets when they’ve been separated. Though he may be seated in his own dorm room and wearing Dante’s old sweatshirt, Vergil still looks as cold and marmoreal as a statue, an unapproachable monarch on his makeshift throne. 

On any other day, Dante would have known better than to test his brother’s patience when he wore such a sour expression — unless, of course, he was spoiling for a fight. But Dante knows Vergil almost better than he knows himself, knows this fragile facade for what it is: a protection against the emotions that well up inside of him like blood from a wound whenever Dante is away. Like this, Vergil is as boarded up as a condemned house, a lockbox without a key, and it’s up to him to open Vergil back up, to jam his fingers into any little crack he can find and pull until his brother relents. 

He wastes no time in cannonballing onto the bed, bouncing the frame against the wall and jostling his brother in the process. Vergil makes a noise of displeasure, stiff as a board even as Dante forces his way into the cradle of his brother’s thighs and buries his face in the folds of fabric on Vergil’s belly. He inhales deeply, the mixture of his and Vergil’s scents unknotting something deep in his chest, and Dante sighs heavily as he wraps his arms around his brother’s middle. 

For a long moment he thinks Vergil might let him stay like this. He can hear the sound of his brother setting something on the bedside table, and then there are fingers carding through his hair and he practically purrs, snuggling closer until his chin is propped up on Vergil’s chest. “D’you miss me?” Dante asks, despite knowing that he won’t get an answer. True to form, his brother gives him a sidelong scowl, only to suddenly tense beneath him. 

It’s all the warning Dante gets before there are firm, unyielding fingers under his jaw, lifting his head up until Dante is forced to prop himself up on his hands to avoid straining his neck. In front of him, Vergil draws his headphones off his ears as he fixes Dante with the first proper look he’s managed since Dante had set foot in their shared dorm. As his brother turns Dante’s head slowly to the side, he’s belatedly reminded of the mark on his face, a fading black eye that was far more impressive several hours ago. Dante grins, cocky as always, and says, 

“You should see the other guy.” 

Vergil snorts softly, but he strokes gently over the yellowing bruise with this thumb. “Careless,” he breathes, and his voice is like a caress all on its own. Dante’s smartass quip nearly dies in his throat before it can make it onto his tongue, but he perseveres. 

“You… you know, I heard injuries heal faster when you kiss them better.” 

He smiles his best winning smile, even as Vergil raises both eyebrows at him. For a moment he’s not sure if his brother will take the bait; the separation is still very fresh, and Vergil isn’t always ready to jump straight back into intimacy. He must be in a generous mood, though, because his fingers tighten briefly around Dante’s chin, and then Vergil is brushing his lips feather-soft against the bruised skin below Dante’s eye. The proximity makes his lashes flutter reflexively, and Dante is forced to shut his eyes and try not to squirm as Vergil presses kiss after gentle kiss to his cheek. 

It’s torturous in a way that Dante hadn’t anticipated, every brush of lips making his skin tingle, hot and shivery as he waits to be released. Vergil holds his chin for a few seconds longer than necessary, clearly savouring the way Dante almost whines, before he drops his hand and settles back against the pillows. God, he needed to get injured more if Vergil was going to kiss him better like that. Freed and hungry, Dante wastes no time in pouncing, hands combing through his brother’s hair as he kisses him, fiercely and painstakingly reacquainting himself with every corner of Vergil’s mouth. 

And Vergil allows it, tense under his hands at first, until he hooks his fingers in Dante’s loosened tie and drags him closer still, meeting Dante’s passion with his own. Dante barely lets him up for air, chases his lips and clutches at his stolen sweater, presses their bodies together until they’re sprawled on the bed, all while the faint, tinny melody of classical music plays through Vergil’s abandoned headphones. 

They eventually settle, a tangle of limbs and slow, more languid kisses, and Dante finally feels settled, home in a way that has nothing to do with his location. But he can only bask in his brother’s presence for so long before his mind starts to drift towards different sorts of pleasures — the kind that are not so easily ignored. (Thank you, teenage libido.) 

“Hey, Verge,” he whispers, biting his tongue in an effort to keep the amusement out of his voice and ruin the surprise. Vergil makes a noise to show he’s listening, though judging by the way his mouth slides along the edge of Dante’s jaw, he’s clearly not listening very carefully. All the better for what Dante is about to spring on him. “I brought you a present.” 

The sound Vergil makes is more curious this time, and Dante can’t help the way an incriminating grin curls at his mouth, but it doesn’t matter, not when he’s pressing his groin against Vergil’s thigh with a slow, intentional roll of his hips. “You gotta open it, though.”

There is a long pause, in which Vergil’s mouth is very still against his throat. Then, he pulls away, glower somewhat ruined by his Dante-inflicted bedhead, and Dante’s already laughing before Vergil hisses his name like a scandalized cat. This proves to be a near-fatal mistake, as Vergil’s fingers dig mercilessly into his sides, and Dante’s laughter turns to shrieks as his brother tickles him so viciously he’s not even sure it can be called that anymore. 

It’s only when he’s thoroughly winded, eyes wet and fingers twitching uselessly against the covers, that Vergil leans over him and whispers, 

“I’m ready for my present now.”


	2. Prom Problems

When Vergil’s phone buzzes at 6:30 pm, a whole half hour before the start of prom, it’s his first clue that something is amiss. As much as he would have preferred to ignore it, busy as he is carefully scrutinizing his handiwork, the vibrations don’t stop after the first, his phone starting to slide across the wooden surface of his desk. Given that he only knows one person who would dare send him each new thought in an individual text, Vergil has a pretty good idea who’s looking for him. 

With a heavy sigh, he settles himself down on his bed and unlocks his phone, already prepared for the worst. His brother’s name, and the words “7 messages” immediately greet him. 

_so_

_guess who made up with their bf. :( :( :(_

_don’t wanna say it but u were right_

_she just wanted him 2 get jealous_

_u sure u don’t wanna come crash this party with me_

_trish and lady said i couldn’t be their third wheel_

_:(_

Despite the fact that he should feel a swell of satisfaction that he’d been correct in his deduction, Vergil only feels a twinge of irritation. Foolish girl, and his even more foolish little brother who could never say no to a pretty face. This was what came of being sympathetic to the plight of others. Still, as much as he should let Dante reap what he has sown, Vergil would prefer not to deal with his brother after he’s moped his way through the entire prom evening. Maudlin is not a good look in Dante. 

Frowning down at his phone, he types back a reply:

_I already told you I have no intention of going. If you cannot enjoy yourself on your own then you should come back to the room._

Dante’s reply is almost instantaneous, the barrage of texts beginning again.

_bro_

_come on bro_

_what if i say plz_

_*please_

_pretty please?_

_u wouldn’t want this suit to go to waste ;)))))_

There are several things that Vergil dearly wishes he could type back to that comment, but he settles on the most efficient of replies. _Come back to the dorm._ And then, because Dante is a hundred times more likely to disobey a direct order than he is to acquiesce, he sends another message. _You may find there is a surprise waiting for you._

A surprise which he’s going to have to speed up the delivery on. Vergil tosses his phone onto the bedspread, ignoring the way it starts vibrating almost immediately, and makes a beeline for his closet. 

Vergil had plans for his brother —plans that had been meant for later, but plans all the same. He’d already set up the room just so, the small space neat and tidy and lit softly by the collection of fairy lights Vergil had hung around its edges. There was room on his desk for food — a paltry selection of snacks— and a luxurious collection of blankets (still folded) on his bed. In the corner on the floor, his iPod is connected to its matched set of speakers, a soft, soothing violin melody only just audible. 

It’s not much, but Vergil had, after all, intended for Dante to join him here once the prom festivities were well and truly over. By then, his brother would have surely had his fill of food, dancing, and the illegal alcohol that somebody would undoubtedly smuggle onto the premises. He’d be full and tipsy and probably a little too giddy, but all of those things would make him amiable to a nice, quiet night with Vergil. 

Judging by the way his phone is still buzzing, it sounds like those plans are about to be canceled. " _The best laid schemes of mice and men_ ", and all that. He supposes he’ll just have to do a little bit of improvising. Let no one say that Vergil is incapable of keeping a cool head under pressure.

*

Despite the incessant texts that serve as a one-sided game of twenty questions, Dante still takes his sweet time making his way back to their dorm. Vergil would normally complain about such tardiness, but for once he’s grateful. It gives him the time he needs to shower quickly, change into something nice, and finish setting up the room to suit their needs. Truthfully, he’s not sure how his efforts will be received, what with Dante’s unaccounted for change in mood. His brother may appreciate the gesture; on the other hand, he might take it as a reminder of what he’s missing, and spend the rest of the evening buried dramatically underneath the covers.  
Dante can be an incredible fickle beast when he wants to be.

Vergil’s in the middle of definitely not agonizing over his choice of a playlist when he hears the key in the lock and Dante’s muffled complaints, signalling his brother’s return. He takes a deep, steadying breath and stands slowly, turning to face Dante with a look of practiced indifference as his brother pushes open the door with more flair than is strictly necessary. . 

Dante’s still dressed to impress, sporting a pair of neat black slacks and a sharp red tuxedo jacket with black lapels. Though he’d left with his bowtie done up, Vergil can see now that he’s jerked it free from his collar, letting it dangle to one side and further highlighting his exposed throat. (Dante has always been allergic to doing up his top buttons.) The effect is somewhat ruined by the fact that he’s smiling that smile that Vergil hates, the one that’s too big for his face and doesn’t reach his eyes. 

He stops, though, frozen mid-complaint in the doorway of their shared dorm and just… stares. Vergil clamps firmly down on the urge to fidget, skin prickling at the way Dante’s expression shifts into something surprisingly unreadable. Taking refuge behind familiar acerbity, he asks, 

“Are you going to stand there all night, Dante?” 

His brother fixes him with a strange look before he reclaims his swagger, sauntering into the room and taking a slow look around. The new smile he fixes Vergil with is his favourite cocky one, but there’s a softness to its edges, and Vergil studiously ignores the way it invokes the faintest flutter of warmth in his chest. 

“You do all of this for me, Verge?”

Dante spreads his arms wide, gesturing to the room in its entirety. The one-shoulder shrug Vergil gives him by way of answer is only barely self-effacing. It is, after all, nothing special. He could have done something far better if he’d had the same budget as the prom committee. 

“I had intended to keep you company after you’d grown tired of your...other…” 

He trails off as Dante prowls closer, thoughts skipping in his head like a scratched record the moment his brother hooks his fingers into Vergil’s belt loops. Up close, Dante smells of his fancy cologne, mouthwateringly spicy and masculine. It’s a dangerous combination, what with the way Dante is dressed so nicely, his full attention now completely on Vergil. 

His brother leans shamelessly into his space, nosing softly at his cheek as curls his body closer, practically pressed chest-to-chest. Vergil doesn’t quite shiver at the contact, but it’s a near thing. He can feel Dante’s smile against his skin, and he reaches up to properly free his brother’s bow tie so he has something to do with his hands. As he tosses it towards the bed, he feels Dante’s lips brush against his ear, his brother’s voice pitched low despite the fact that they’re the only two people in the room. 

“I’m flattered.” 

This time, Vergil can’t quite suppress the shudder, and he doesn’t need to see his expression to know Dante’s smirking. He pays his brother back by draping his arms over Dante’s shoulders, letting his fingernails scratch none-too-gently at the nape of his neck. Predictably, Dante’s breath catches, and Vergil’s mouth briefly twitches upwards into a grin of his own. _Predictable little brother_. He feigns ignorance though, humming softly as they linger together in an intimate embrace. “Is that so?” 

“Mhmm.” Dante’s hands are starting to wander, sliding around to rest on the small of Vergil’s back. So far, this is rather promising. At the very least, Dante’s mood doesn’t appear to be too compromised. Vergil is just about to suggest they move things away from the door when Dante says, “This music’s gotta go, though.” 

After his declaration, Dante presses a loud, wet kiss to Vergil’s cheek and sidles away, making a beeline for Vergil’s iPod. Vergil tsk’s under his breath, but doesn’t head after him. For one thing, it’s proof that Dante isn’t going to spend the rest of the evening in woe and misery. For another, staying where he is gives him the perfect vantage point to appreciate the way Dante’s pants pull taught over his ass when he hunkers down near the speakers. Sometimes, one must appreciate the little things in life. 

The music Dante settles on is far too jazzy and mainstream for Vergil’s tastes, but his brother is already shucking his jacket and unbuttoning even more of his dress shirt, hips swaying to the beat. He strikes a ridiculous pose, crooking his fingers at Vergil in a beckoning gesture even as Vergil folds his arms over his chest. Dante, however, will not be deterred. 

“Dance with me, brother! C’mon, I know you know how.” 

Vergil wants to protest, wants to make it very clear that he’s practiced in classical forms of dancing, not whatever gyrations and contortions Dante and his cohorts call “dancing.” But Dante’s already grabbing for both of his hands, clutching them tightly as he pulls Vergil to him, already laughing. Vergil’s resistance is perfunctory, because his brother’s delight is infectious, bubbling warm and gentle beneath his skin. There’s no one here to witness this but his brother, no one to maintain his composure for, and so he allows Dante to drag him around their room like they’re children while his brother belts out the words to a song Dante only barely knows the words to. 

When they’ve cavorted their way through three songs — exuberantly on Dante’s part and with a show of reluctance on Vergil’s — Dante spins him so they’re back to front, caged in their linked arms, and growls, “ _Show me your motivation, brother_ ,” in a truly laughable imitation of Vergil’s voice. Even so, it’s more than enough to get Vergil moving for real, freeing himself from Dante’s embrace so he can take control of their dancing. Soon, the room is filled with the sounds of cheesy tunes, off-key singing, and Dante’s ruckus, easy laughter. Through it all, Dante doesn’t let go of Vergil’s hands, grip warm and steady and sure even as they move undaintily around the room. 

Later, when they’ve properly exhausted themselves with their impromptu karaoke and dance-off, Dante lets Vergil put his playlist back on. “‘S good cuddle music,” he claims, as he draws Vergil into his embrace on the bed, unsatisfied until they are pressed as close as space and anatomy will allow them. Vergil doesn’t protest, instead basking in the lingering giddiness of their shared night together and the heat of his brother’s body against his own. 

“Mmm, I owe you one for this,” Dante mumbles against his chest, face buried in the crook of Vergil’s neck, idly stroking his brother’s back. There are a thousand things Vergil could say to this, a hundred verses he could recite to try and capture this moment between them. But Dante has always wrinkled his nose at poetry, rolled his eyes every time Vergil had gone above and beyond to exercise his plentiful vocabulary. 

So instead, Vergil rolls them over until he’s resting on top of his brother and lets his actions do the talking, kissing Dante with all the slow, unbridled affection he can muster. Judging by the way Dante’s fingers curl into the fabric of his sweater, he has a feeling his brother understands this just fine.


End file.
